After being separated from my family, I became a darling of the military region thanks to my medical

The anesthesiologist looked up and called out the numbers.

"Induction complete. Arterial pressure 88.56, blood oxygen 72, lactate is still rising."

Ye Zhen had finished washing her hands and stood in the main knife position.

"Open chest."

Whitman stood in the assistant's position, looking at her hands through her mask.

No one spoke much in operating room number three.

Benjamin is too young.

Four months, 6.1 kilograms, with countless tiny blood vessels under the skin. After the sternum was opened, the right ventricle occupied most of the field of vision, beating rapidly and erratically.

Ye Zhen did not pause.

"microscope."

The camera pans down.

Whitman's shoulder visibly stiffened the moment the subclavian artery was exposed.

He couldn't help but say, "It's too thin."

Ye Zhen reached out her hand.

"Vascular measuring ruler"

The nurse handed it over.

Ye Zhen gently pried open the surrounding tissue with micro forceps, placing the ruler close to the outer diameter of the blood vessel.

"2.9 millimeters."

Whitman took a breath.

"The planned 3.5 mm artificial blood vessel cannot be connected. The anastomosis will rupture, and the shunt flow will become uncontrollable."

The anesthesiologist looked up.

The infusion therapist's hand stopped beside the knob.

Whitman looked at the pitifully thin blood vessel and spoke faster.

"Under these conditions, the improved BT distribution method cannot be implemented. If we force it, the child will die on stage."

Ye Zhen didn't look at him.

"Get a 3.0 mm artificial blood vessel."

The scrub nurse immediately turned the tables.

Whitman panicked.

"3.0 mm is too thick! The subclavian artery is only 2.9 mm, how are you going to anastomose it?"

"Cut the bevel."

Ye Zhen took the artificial blood vessel and then asked for micro-scissors.

"The cut angle is 30 degrees. The minor axis is kept at 3 millimeters, and the major axis is set at 4.2 millimeters. After the fit is made, the effective diameter is calculated based on the area of ​​an ellipse, not the diameter of a circular pipe."

Whitman paused for a moment.

"Have you calculated it?"

"Five groups were calculated before the surgery."

Ye Zhen placed the artificial blood vessel on the black pad and lowered the microscopic scissors along the marked line.

First cut, make an opening.

The second cut is for trimming the edges.

The third cut smooths out the rough areas on the inner wall.

Her hands made no unnecessary movements.

The Mayo nurse next to her subconsciously held her breath, only realizing after the cut was finished that she had forgotten to hand over an instrument.

Ye Zhen reached out her hand.

"Eight single strands, microscopic needle holder."

The nurse quickly replaced it.

In front of the screen in the observation area, old Cohen stared at the magnified anastomosis, his pen hovering above his notebook, not falling for a long time.

Harrison stood beside him and said in a low voice, "She stretched the bevel of the artificial blood vessel."

Cohen did not respond.

He recalculated the area in his mind.

Twenty-eight degrees.

This angle is tricky.

If it's any smaller, the opening won't be wide enough.

If the size is too large, the tension at the joint edges will be uneven, and the back wall is most prone to leakage.

Stephen stood in front of the lectern, his palms pressed against the table.

On the screen, Ye Zhen had already begun to kiss.

"Posterior wall eversion. First stitch."

The instrument nurse reports the line.

"Keep the tail end."

"The second injection."

Whitman was forced to follow her lead and broaden her field of vision.

He had initially wanted to point out where to avoid, but Ye Zhen consistently placed each needle at the most secure point on the edge of the blood vessel.

Not deep, not shallow.

The inner lining did not roll in.

"The third injection."

The anesthesiologist suddenly looked up.

"Heart rate dropped, 80, 76."

Ye Zhen didn't stop.

"blood pressure."

"Eighty-three and fifty-five."

"Continue reporting."

Heart rate 73.

The injection machine alarm sounded.

The perfusionist looked up anxiously: "We're running out of myocardial protectant! Two minutes at most!"

Whitman immediately tensed up.

"Pause the anastomosis, start fluid resuscitation!"

Ye Zhen fell down the fourth needle on the back wall.

Heart rate.

"seventy!"

In the observation area, Harrison grabbed the railing, the veins on the back of his hand bulging.

Stephen grabbed the walkie-talkie.

"Dr. Ye, the protective fluid is insufficient; we recommend discontinuing treatment immediately!"

Ye Zhen finally spoke.

"There are two stitches left on the posterior wall and four stitches left on the anterior wall, for a total of six stitches."

She gently pulled the thread out.

"Estimated time: 90 seconds."

The infusion technician was stunned: "Ninety seconds?"

"Reduce the flow rate by 15%, maintain the temperature, and prevent the pressure differential from collapsing."

The infusion therapist looked at the anesthesiologist.

The anesthesiologist gritted his teeth: "Press her."

Ye Zhen's right hand suddenly moved faster.

The fifth stitch.

The needle tip penetrates the outer side of the blood vessel wall, causing the suture to turn outwards.

The sixth stitch.

She didn't tighten it, but left the end of the thread as originally planned.

"Turn to the front wall."

Whitman quickly adjusted the hook.

Ye Zhen reminded him, "Don't press on the subclavian artery with your left hand."

Whitman suddenly relaxed his grip.

"Feel sorry."

"Look at the field of vision."

The seventh stitch.

Eighth stitch.

The anesthesiologist reported: "Heart rate 68, blood pressure 82.54."

"Dopamine maintenance."

Ninth stitch.

The infusion technician stared at the scale: "Fifteen milliliters of protective fluid remain!"

Tenth stitch.

"Ten milliliters!"

Ye Zhen tied a knot.

The first knot is fixed, not closed.

Second knot tension.

The third knot is locked.

"Finish."

The infusionist glanced at the timer.

Eighty seconds.

He swallowed hard, but didn't say anything.

Whitman stared at the anastomosis, unable to look away for a long time.

Such tiny blood vessels.

Such a short time.

Ye Zhen reached out her hand.

"Low-pressure infusion test".

The nurse handed me the syringe.

With a push of the infusion, the artificial blood vessel bulged slightly.

Everyone stared at the joint.

A drop of blood suddenly appeared on the back wall.

Whitman instinctively reached for the hemostatic gauze.

Ye Zhen raised her voice: "Don't touch it."

Whitman's hand froze in mid-air.

"Pressure will deform the stitch spacing on the posterior wall."

She took the micro-tweezers and a new eight-zero suture.

"Attracting, but with a small volume."

Whitman immediately took the suction device.

"Only suck the outer periphery, avoid the kissing opening."

"clear."

Under the microscope, the bleeding points on the posterior wall were magnified onto the screen.

The spot where the bleeding occurred was tricky; it was located at the junction of the artificial blood vessel bevel and the subclavian artery, less than two millimeters away from the knot of the previous suture.

Ye Zhen pinched up the sewing thread.

Insert the needle.

Remove the needle.

With wire.

tie.

The whole process took less than half a minute.

"Test again."

The infusion technician pushes the low-pressure infusion.

The anastomosis is clean.

The nurse couldn't help but whisper, "It's not leaking anymore."

Whitman put the gauze she was holding back back into the dish.

He didn't speak this time.

Ye Zhen glanced at the monitor.

"Establish a traffic diversion system."

Clamping and loosening.

Blood flow appeared in the artificial blood vessel.

Blood oxygen levels did not rise immediately.

Seventy-two.

Seventy-two.

Seventy-three.

The anesthesiologist, holding his breath, said, "There's a response."

Ye Zhen did not relax.

"Pulmonary artery constriction."

The strapping material was handed over.

The preoperative calculations are one set, and the pressure measurement on the operating table is another.

She kept Whitman exposed while she measured her right ventricular pressure and pulmonary artery pressure herself.

"Right ventricle 78, pulmonary artery 52."

Whitman immediately frowned.

"Pulmonary vascular resistance is higher than assessed by angiography."

Ye Zhen passed the bandage through the main trunk of the pulmonary artery.

"Tighten the strap by half a millimeter."

Stephen's voice came through the intercom.

"Wouldn't half a millimeter excessively restrict pulmonary blood flow? The child's blood oxygen level is currently only 73."

Ye Zhen continued to tighten the straps.

"His pulmonary vascular bed is worse than it appears on imaging. If we don't tighten it up post-surgery, the pulmonary blood flow will be disrupted and the systemic circulation will collapse."

"What if the blood oxygen level doesn't rise?"

"First, look at the pressure difference."

She tightened, secured, and measured the pressure.

"Right ventricle 76, pulmonary artery 39."

The anesthesiologist immediately reported: "Blood oxygen 75."

No one made a sound in the operating room.

A few seconds later.

Seventy-eight.

The infusion technician, his hand resting on the edge of the machine, finally let out a breath.

"Lactic acid levels did not continue to rise."

"eighty."

Whitman looked at the screen.

The artificial blood vessel shunt was stable, and the position of the band did not slip.

"Eighty-one."

Ye Zhen examined the anastomosis, bandages, and bleeding points, and also checked the cardiac filling status.

"Maintain the target of 80 to 90, and don't chase the highs."

The anesthesiologist nodded: "Understood."

Ye Zhen put the instruments back in the tray.

"Close your chest."

Whitman then realized that her back was completely soaked.

He took the suturing instruments, and his movements were much more steady than before.

The process of closing the chest was not quick.

Ye Zhen checked the drainage, hemostasis, and tubing fixation item by item.

Benjamin's blood oxygen level eventually stopped between 84 and 86.

For this child, this was already pulling him back from the brink of disaster.

After the last layer of skin was stitched up, Ye Zhen glanced at the time.

Two hours and seventeen minutes.

The anesthesiologist reported: "Arterial pressure 86.52, heart rate 132, blood oxygen 85. Prepare to transfer to intensive care."

Ye Zhen took off her gloves.

"In the first hour after surgery, check blood oxygen every five minutes. If blood oxygen suddenly rises above 90, check for excessive pulmonary blood flow. If it suddenly drops below 75, check for shunt thrombosis and band displacement."

Whitman took notes very quickly.

Ye Zhen glanced at him.

"Don't just look at the monitors. Report any changes in the child's limb temperature or urine output."

"clear."

When Benjamin was wheeled away, the operating room was already packed with people.

As soon as the door opened, the sound of a camera immediately started.

The reporter, despite being blocked by security guards, still stretched out his arm to hand over the recorder.

Benjamin's mother rushed to the front, but was stopped by the nurse.

"Where is my child? Is he still alive?"

Ye Zhen took off her mask.

She didn't beat around the bush.

"First phase complete, the child is alive. Next, we'll watch 24 hours."

The woman's legs gave way and she sat down on the ground. The nurse quickly helped her up.

Benjamin's father leaned against the wall, his shoulders trembling violently, and after a long while, he managed to squeeze out only one sentence:

"Thank you...thank you..."

Xu Wenqiang stood to the side, without the translator providing any translation.

Harrison took off his glasses, wiped the lenses with his cuff, and put them back on.

Stephen stood a few steps away.

He looked at the incubator being pushed into the intensive care unit, then at Ye Zhen, as if he had something to say, and finally just reached out his hand to her.

"Dr. Ye, Mayo will provide 24-hour monitoring."

Ye Zhen did not shake hands.

"Send the blood gas report on time first."

Stephen paused, then withdrew his hand.

"it is good."

Gu Zheng walked over from the back of the crowd and handed Ye Zhen an opened bottle of water.

Ye Zhen took it and drank two sips.